


Baptism

by romans



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romans/pseuds/romans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for lass, who always wanted Cas and Lucy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baptism

He comes to find her again. It is 1941 and she is nine and she is twenty-three and she doesn't know how her body can hold so much _life_ and still keep on going. She's in the underground, waiting for a train, her school uniform rumpled and stained. She is alone; Peter is starting fights and Susan is finishing them, and poor Edmund is caught in between. 

The sound of his wings is like an echo from a far-off train. Lucy is the only one who hears them, and her heart leaps when she sees him standing at the end of the platform. 

_The stranger,_ she thinks, and then, _Narnia_. Perhaps he's found a way back. 

No one takes any notice of Lucy as she threads her way between tired commuters and loud children (But then, Peter has just broken David White's nose, which provides all the distraction she could need). She wonders if anyone else can see him. It doesn't matter, she decides. _She_ can see him and that's the important part. 

His eyes are as blue as she remembered them, a slice of Narnian skies in the dull grey of London. She wants to throw her arms around him, to greet him as she would any other friend from Narnia, but she does not. He was always a little too wild, a little too big for hugs or physical affection. He has, she thought, all of Aslan's fierceness and none of His softness.

But a friend of Aslan was always a friend of Lucy's.

*

They had been out riding one day when Lucy saw a flash of gold through the trees.

"Aslan!" she cried, delighted, and wheeled her horse around to follow him. They came to a clearing in the woods. The grass was long and fragrant, and there was a little lake in the middle of it. Neither the Kings or Queens or any of their horses could recall seeing such a place before. 

Sitting on the ground next to the shores of the lake was a man. He was small, and thin, and queerly dressed in a dirty white shirt and dark trousers. His head was bowed to the ground so that all that they could see of him was his black hair. But the strangest thing about him was how perfectly still he was. He was like a statue made flesh and blood. 

"Sir," Lucy cried out. "Are you well?" 

The man did not move an inch.

"Perhaps he is enchanted," King Peter said. At that, the man looked up. 

"I am not enchanted," he said, in perfect Narnian. He looked down again, briefly, and said, "I was searching for my Father. I have found him." 

When he looked up again, all the stillness about him was gone, and his blue eyes were wild with emotion. 

"He came to me here," he said. "I never thought..." 

Lucy slid off of her horse and came over to stand beside him. She put a hand on his shoulder.

"I thought that He had abandoned me," the man said. 

"Aslan would never leave you," Lucy said, kindly. "He may not always come when you think you need him, but He always comes around eventually." 

The stranger looked up at her. "Why could anyone let so many suffer, for so long, without doing anything?" 

Lucy squeezed his shoulder. "Aslan has to follow the rules, just like anyone else. He had to wait a hundred years for us to come."

"You?" the stranger asked.

"The chosen ones," Ed said. 

The stranger looked around at them, taking in everything. 

"It pains Him," Lucy said. "You must see that. It will all come out all right. Perhaps he was just waiting for the right time."

"Perhaps," the man said. His eyes sharpened suddenly, as if he had recalled something important.

"I must go," he said. 

*

And now he is here, in London, with her. 

"Why are you here?" she asks.

"To open a door," he says. "Give me your knife." 

Lucy digs through her satchel until she finds the little penknife that Miss Petherbridge hadn't managed to confiscate. 

She winces when the man slices the skin of his left arm open, but he doesn't seem to feel it. He wets his fingers with the blood seeping out of his body and starts to daub it onto the wall. Slowly, a shape begins to emerge; a strange swirling design that resembles a tunnel, or a cave, or, now, a snarling beast. He uses his thumb, delicately, to add a few final swipes to the outside of the bloody picture, and then he turns back to Lucy.

"Go find your sister. She's outside the station," he rumbles. "And remember to hold on tight."

Lucy stares at him, open-mouthed, for a moment. Her entire body is filled to the brim with joy, and she wants to burst into tears at the same time. He looks as if he's listening to some far off sound, or waiting for the right moment. His left hand is glistening red, dripping dark blood onto the dirty tile of the floor.

" _Go,_ " he says. 

Lucy runs.


End file.
